


Howlin' For You

by orphan_account



Series: Howlin' For You [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Kanima, M/M, Pining, Werewolves, club scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-08 15:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Find Danny they said. Just go to the club they said. It would be easy they said. But nothing in Stiles Stilinksi's life is ever easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rude Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find Danny they said. Just go to the club they said. It would be easy they said. But nothing in Stiles Stilinksi's life is ever easy.

“Find Danny they said. Just go to the club the said. It would be easy they sa-HEY WATCH THE HANDS!”

Stiles turns around to get his backside away from the firm hand of the ass grabber. His glare is met with a blonde’s wide grin. The guy is Jackson levels of good looking and he is ripped if the skin tight tank was anything to go by. He is looking at Stiles like he was Christmas come early. For the first time that night Stiles is glad for the club’s dark lighting. His can feel the heat of a blush on his face. Stiles shakes his finger at the grinning man. And yeah, maybe Stiles smiles back at him before he turns and walks away. This is visceral proof that gay guys found him attractive. And if gay guys found him attractive then that wasn’t a big leap to assume that girls found him attractive. They both liked guys! That’s a relatively stable assumption to make! Lydia could find him attractive! So what if he did put a little swagger in his step. That wasn’t the first ass grab of the night and even though it came from more of the drunker inhabitants he was still getting looks from some of the relatively sober guys. Not just looks though. He was getting checked out. Like those head to toe looks that left you feeling turned inside out, like every inch of your skin is just swarming with energy, buzzing to get out. He ignores the feeling because he has a job to do. He has to find Danny. Scott and Allison are out there trying to track Jackson. But they keep getting mixed scent rails that taper off into nothing. They are still trying to figure out why the trails keep going dead. So Stiles gets stuck with finding out who the kanima’s “friend” is. They have to have some sort of power over the beast, maybe even get it to stop killing. They have to stop Jackson. Danny is Jackson’s best friend when he is human, maybe it’s the same when he is animal. So, they need to find Danny. And if Stiles has to go to a gay bar to do it, then so be it.

Stiles tries to remember where he saw the goalie last. He remembers him talking to someone in the corner, near a booth. He cranes his neck around to find the table again. Danny is still there, talking to someone that Stiles can only see the back of his head. Danny gets up to move but a hand snakes out and pulls him back down roughly. The teen struggles against the hold as the mystery man leans forward. Whatever he says makes Danny stop fighting, his face paling visibly even under the ricocheting bright colors of the strobe lights in the club. Stiles starts forward and pushes onto the dance floor. He has to ignore the grind of bodies against him. He is halfway through when he feels a hand diving under his shirt, deft fingers digging into the waistband of his jeans. He grabs the wayward appendage and holds it away from his body while turning to face the groper. It’s the blonde from before, sans the dark haired man he was trying to climb when he grabbed Stiles’s ass. Handsy McGroper and the look he’s giving Stiles now is less Christmas present and more like Christmas dinner. A tendril of panic worms its way into Stiles’s stomach. Stiles drops the offending wrist roughly, tossing it back toward the body its attached to. He has to yell over the music and the loud pump of the bass.

“Sorry dude. I’m not looking for anything.”

The drunk’s eyes seem to be looking over his shoulder, grin widening at what he sees. Stiles suddenly feels a hand running across his waist, coming to settle at his right hip. Next thing he knows he is being pulled flush against a warm body.

“He’s got all he needs right here.”

He whips his head up to see Isaac, his mouth falling open in shock. He tries to move away but the arm around him tightens and draws him in even closer. Stiles stumbles further into the werewolf who was giving the blonde a wild, feral grin. Stiles has a second to weighs his options. He picks up his jaw long enough to smile at the clearly shitfaced groper. He rests his shoulder in the center of the werewolf’s chest, trying his best to act natural.

“Like I said, sorry I’m not looking.”

The man walks closer and Stiles can feel the growl that rises in Isaac’s chest. It vibrates into his back, shaking through layers of clothing, and into his skin. He shivers knowing, without having to look, that golden eyes are glaring at the drunken man. But apparently alcohol really does lower your life expectancy because Handsy McGroper is still walking closer, grinning like a madman. In the back of his mind Stiles wonders how he thought this guy was attractive in the first place. But his musing is cut off. What happens next makes Stiles snap to attention, his spine going stiff so fast that it hurt for an instant, limbs turning into steel rods. His heart is beating out a panicked rhythm that could give the DJ a run for his money. He hears his own sharp intake of breath as Isaac licks, _licks_ , a wet stripe of heat up his neck, from the collar of his shirt tapering off just under the curve of his jaw. Stiles doesn’t have time to react before another body, a larger body, is tearing them away from each other. A hot hand rests heavily against the back of his neck. The hold is tight and rough, reprimanding. He follows the leather clad arm up to Derek’s face. The Alpha isn’t looking at him. Instead his eyes are glowing red, his fangs out, mouth open in a snarl, his free hand fisted tightly in Isaac’s curls. The teen’s head is thrown back, trying to find relief from the unfaltering hold, face gritted in pain, body wanting to sink away from the unrelenting glare.

Stiles watches as the drunk starts to finally back away, half yelling something over the music about never doing foursomes again. If he was capable of laughing Stiles would have as he watches the man trip over himself as he continues his retreat. The drunk doesn’t get very far before he starts screaming. Stiles whole body goes rigid again, fear settling heavy in his gut. A body is sprawled on the floor, the black fish net tank sliced neatly at the neck where blood slowly dribbles out from a single horizontal cut. Stiles catches sight of another body falling to the ground at their left. His eyes dart around the room. The rest of the clubbers on the dance floor are still swaying to the beat. They haven’t noticed the fallen club goers yet. Then Stiles sees something dark move above his head, the red and yellow lights catching on something – scales. Stiles left hand darts out to grab at Derek’s side. He ends up with a fistful of leather and tugs as hard as he can.

“Derek.”

The growl rises in pitch and the grip on his neck tightens but Stiles ignores the sharp press of claws into his skin. He tugs the jacket again and feels Derek’s body sway fractionally toward him.

“DEREK.”

The Alpha’s growl is cut off as he turns his attention to Stiles’s pale face. He follows the teen’s stare and finds that Stiles’s eyes are locked with the Kamina’s hanging from the ceiling. The drunk’s screams are getting louder. He’s probably spotted the beast. So have a few others because chaos starts to break out in the club. Derek pulls Stiles toward him and shoves him into Isaac’s grasp.

“Get out of here.”

The words are more snarl at this point but Isaac starts to herd him toward the exit. Stiles tries to move back toward Derek but the hard grip on his arm pulls him back. Stiles can only watch as Derek crouches low to the ground, claws out at his sides, a low growl spilling out between bared fangs that has everyone not already scrambling running. It sends chills down Stiles’s spine. The kanima hisses as he drops to the floor with movements that are slick and grossly snake like. He swears he catches red eyes looking back at them, making sure they are getting away when Stiles slams into another person. He recognizes the face and the shock and confusion etched there. He grabs a handful of Danny’s shirt and tugs him along the same way Isaac is doing to him.

“What the hell just happened?”

Stiles just shakes his head and gets his feet under him, running with Isaac instead of being pulled along after him like dead weight. He makes sure he still has a hold on Danny’s shirt as they keep moving.

“I have no freaking idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to share what I think (ie. hope) might happen during the club scene next week!  
> P.S. I was listening to Rihanna's Rude Boy while writing.  
> P.P.S. This was supposed to be just a little drabble, but my brain just wouldn't shut up. It's now a four chapter mini fic.


	2. If You Could Only See the Beast You've Made of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The amazing thing is that no one says anything. No one moves. No one goes after him. He turns his back on them and they just let him go.

“What the hell is going on!?”  
  
Stiles takes a second to look around at the fleeing masses. He can hear the sirens in the distance. People are freaking out and Stiles takes a half a second to think about the fact that he isn’t. That’s saying volumes about just how insane his life is. He turns to Danny because Isaac is busy looking back at the now empty club, not moving, not saying anything, and just not helping in general.

“Stiles!”

He glares at Isaac who ignores him and Stiles turns to Danny with a frown.

“I swear Danny, I will tell you about everything, just not now. I can’t be here when my dad shows up. Just go home, directly home, and lock your doors.”

Danny gives him a frustrated look that is interrupted by the sound of the fire alarm screeching to life inside the club. Isaac flinches and Stiles grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him toward his jeep.

“Danny, you need to get out of here man. There’s nothing we can do.”

He watches Danny’s face. He can see the goalie struggling with his decision before shakes his head and points at Stiles.

“Everything Stilinksi!”

Stiles groans but nods, watching as the teen gets into his car in the now half empty lot across the street. Stiles still has a grip on Isaac’s jacket, leather of course, when they collide into a man swearing into a cellphone talking about insurance and never getting the clientele back. Stiles pushes Issac toward the black Camaro he spots in the back of the lot and gives the man in the suit a frown.

“Some guy just told me he smelt gas before everyone started freaking. I wonder if it’s like those toxic fumes from the bath salts pepole are snorting. Turns them crazy man.”

The guy pales and starts running toward the building. Stiles feels guilty for planting that thought in the guy’s head but they don’t need an entire night club thinking they saw an overgrown lizard about to duke it out with the wolfman on the dance floor. Stiles can see the lights from the fire trucks a few blocks down. He shoves Isaac towards Derek’s Camaro. That car sticks out like a sore thumb in Beacon Hills. But so does his. Everyone knows Derek’s car and Stiles’s jeep. And they both need to be out of the parking lot and gone like now.

“Meet me at Shoneys!”

He doesn’t wait for Isaac to answer, just climbs in his jeep and pulls out his phone as he tears out of the parking lot.

“Meet up at Shoney’s, back parking lot. Now.”

He hears Scott saying something but ignores it to watch the road. He takes a side street when a cruiser pulls onto the boulevard. He makes it to the closed and run down Shoney’s ten blocks over and parks behind the dark building, out of the view of the street. Erica and Boyd step out of the shadows as Stiles climbs out of his car and leans against the door frame. Isaac tears into the parking lot and cuts the engine. He must have called them on the way. Erica narrows her eyes at Stiles as he walks over to stand in the empty space between the cars.

“Why do you smell like Isaac?”

Stiles really definitely does not want to talk about the whole licking fiasco with her and he most certainly does not want to think about that now. He doesn’t want to think about that ever. He opens his mouth to tell her to keep her werewolf out of his business but her nose twitches and her eyes flare golden in the dim lamplight.

“Why do you smell like Derek? Why do you smell like _that_?”

Her fangs are out. A snarl rips through the parking lot. Boyd tenses as Isaac starts to move toward Erica. Stiles takes a slow step back and raises his hands in a non threatening way.

 “Whoa there, Kujo. Calm down.”

He feels himself grimace at the words that leave his mouth. He watches as her claws come out and he sees her coming toward him but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t have to. Derek is there standing in front of him panting, eyes menacing red, a hand wrapped around her wrist so tight he thinks he hears bones crunch. As Erica crumbles to the floor he realizes that he does hear bones crunching. He tries to peek over Scott’s shoulder but his best friend is like a wall of muscle and he doesn’t budge where he’s wedged himself between Stiles and Erica and Derek. Derek, who is bleeding. The light reflects harshly, distorting the bright red blood that can be seen from under his jacket. It drips sluggishly down the front of his tank and runs into his jeans.

“Holy shit dude! Did you get juiced?”

Derek lets go of Erica, throwing her broken wrist back at her. Isaac helps her up and looks over her hand as she whimpers. Scott still hasn’t moved. When Stiles tries to move around him to see if Derek needs to see a doctor or a like vet Scott grabs his shoulder and forces him to stop moving. Derek watches Scott closely before he looks to Stiles and shakes his head.

“No.”

He must sense that Stiles is about to speak because he explains.

“It’s already healing. Jackson got away.”

“It wasn’t Jackson.”

Derek turns sharply to Scott. Stiles almost falls over in order to see Scott’s face.

“What do you mean it wasn’t Jackson?”

Derek looms over him, teeth barred. His best friend doesn’t back down from the Alpha and Stiles feels a surge of pride.

“It wasn’t Jackson. I caught his scent and me and Allison where tracking it all over town. I kept picking it up and loosing it. He was moving. He must have been in a van or uhaul. We found fresh tracks on the back road to the old electricity plant. The lime they used to kill the grass it too absorbed in the soil. It couldn’t hold a scent. We were about to backtrack to pick it up again but Stiles called and we high tailed it over here.”

Allison steps up now phone in hand and flashes them a Google map trajectory on the screen. Even by car, which is like walking speed for werewolves (and probably kanimas), is 20 minutes away.

“That plant is on the other side of town. There’s no way Jackson could have gotten from there to the club that fast.”

Isaac speaks for the first time since the club. His voice doesn’t instill much confidence in Stiles this time. It’s nervous and strained.

“There are two of those things out there?”

Derek nods slowly, a dark look on his face.

“And other people are aware of it now. They saw us fighting.”

 “Yeah, about that… I may have led the owner to believe there was a gas leak and people were hallucinating.”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck as all eyes turns to him and he shrugs.

“What? I had the opportunity to cover your sorry ass tails and I took it.”

Boyd jumps in on the conversation now and Stiles jumps about the foot in the air at the sound of his voice. For a guy that big, he can be seriously quiet and unnoticed when he wants to be. He grins at Stiles reaction.

“We need to get a scent on this thing. See if we can’t track it and find where it’s hiding.”

Stiles mind is already racing with possibilities. His mouth moves and words spill out before he has time to filter what he’s thinking and actually willing to say.

“There’s no way we can get back into the club tonight. The scent might be wrecked from all the foot traffic anyway. And they detailed my car after the mechanic. It smells like pinesol and sunshine. The chorine from the pool probably ate away at whatever scent trail it would have left on the diving boards or tile. There might be something else. I think, maybe, I’m pretty sure they collected one of the diving championship banners from the pool. It clawed through it before it knocked Erica out.”

Erica sneers at him but otherwise remains silent.

“You need to get that banner.”

“Are you freaking kidding me? You want me to break into the evidence locker, steal evidence from an ongoing high propriety investigation, and bring it to you to sniff?”

The look Derek is giving him used to make him flinch. It used to terrify him. Now it makes him want to punch him.

“Even if I could get into the evidence locker, which I can’t, I’m not putting my dad’s job in jeopardy again. The department is already under investigation from internal affairs from that whack job hunter. My dad is facing the damn IA disciplinary board because of me getting stuck in the middle of this bullshit, again. I’m not letting you mess with his career so you can catch a whiff of big, bad, and scaly.”

Scott is actually holding him back from closing the last few inches between him and a furious red eyed Alpha. Stiles shakes the hand off and stalks toward his jeep to give them both some space. He didn’t realize he was closing in on the werewolf. He didn’t know his hands were shaking at his sides as he spoke. He clenches his fists and grinds his teeth and reigns the anger back in. He turns back to face Derek and meets his now calm, human eyes.

“I’m not doing it.”

“Fine.”

Derek spits it out like it’s a bad taste on his tongue.

“We’ll use Lydia to draw Jackson out. Its _friend_ will show up to help out.”

Stiles is actually at a loss for words. Scott however is not which is an amazing turns of events, if they would have happened in any other conversation than the one happening now. Scott growls at Derek, steps into his personal space. Allison has a hand on a taser in her pocket. Stiles reacts enough to glare at Derek, promising murder with his eyes.

“You are not using Lydia as bait.”

The Alpha ignores the beta and his girlfriend’s stance. He doesn’t even glance at Stiles. He just pins Scott with an annoyed look.

“We need to find it before it attacks again.”

“Figure out another way!”

Erica speaks up now, arm healed, and sends a snide look over to Stiles.

“We only have a few more days until the full moon is over. We need to find the other kanima before that.”

Stiles frowns because he knows she’s right. They need to stop it before it has the chance to kill again. But not this way.

“Hello no, I’m not letting you use her as bait!”

Derek points to Allison.

“Allison would be with Lydia the entire time. She’ll be safe. We just need to use her to lure Jackson out. The other kanima will follow and we can take them both down while Lydia and Allison retreat. We’ll be stronger together.”

Scott worries his lips between his teeth as he stares at the ground. Stiles knows that look, he knows that stare. He feels his stomach turn violently.

“Scott are you, are you serious? We can’t just use her like that! There are two of those things out there and Jackson doesn’t even know that he’s one of them! He could hurt Lydia or Allison, he WILL hurt them! ”

Scott looks torn and Allison looks downright miserable. They are thinking about putting their lives in danger, their friends’ lives in danger, and possibly killing one of them… to save the lives of innocent people. But then Scott is talking about never letting them out of sight, watching from a distance, protecting her and Allison until the lizards show up, and Stiles can’t think he is so mad. Derek is talking now, forming a plan that Stiles half catches, half ignores. Anger flares to violent life in his chest. His hands shake with the effort to control it.

“I quit. I QUIT!”

That makes everyone stop arguing. That makes everyone’s eyes snap to him. He is aware of a growl starting to rumble to life somewhere but he talks over it.  
  
“I'm fucking done with this bullshit. I'm sick and tired of giving up everything, everything for you people. I'm always sacrificing myself and my wants and my needs and my fucking life just to get jack shit in return. Not even a fucking thank you. So you know what? NO! No, I will not help you. No, I will not put my dad in danger again. No, I will not let you use Lydia as bait. Not ever. I will die before I let that happen. My god, does anyone not see how fucked up she is? She's having multiple psychotic breaks! Have any of you even noticed? Her whole life got fucked the second werewolves showed up. And you know what? So did mine.”  
  
Derek’s growling has escalated from a low thrum to a full blown thundering rumble. Scott looks crushed. He doesn’t care about the others. He ignores them, rant off in full swing, needing to get this out.

“I've had it with everyone giving me the run around and never telling me the truth. I’m fucking smart and I could come up with a plan where nobody dies in the end or gets fucking ripped apart right in front of me if you would just tell me what the hell you know and what you’re thinking. I am the one that doesn't have fucking healing abilities or super strength or amazeball senses to keep me alive. I'm human and I at least deserve the courtesy of knowing what I'm dying for! So fuck this! Fuck kanimas, fuck hunters, and fuck werewolves!”

The haphazard group around him falls into quiet. The silence is so strong that Stiles feels the need to say something but there isn’t anything left for him to say. This had been weighing on his mind for months now. He clenches his fists at his side and meets all of their stares. Derek is moving forward now. His expression is unreadable except for the pulling of his eyebrows. He’s confused and angry. It is funny how just that little downturn of skin and bone and blood can tell Stiles so much. He hates that he understands it. He hates how he knows what that tiny little movement of his features means. He hates that he flinches when Derek takes another step toward him. The Alpha stops the second he sees it. Every single muscle is tense and taunt at the loss of movement. It looks like he’s been slapped in the face and Stile can’t bring himself to give a shit. The werewolf ducks his head a little, makes sure he catches Stiles eye. His voice is controlled and neutral, void of any emotion. When he speaks it sounds more like a command than a reassurance.

“Stiles, you're pack.”

Stiles doesn’t want to be controlled anymore. He doesn’t want to be reassured either because he’s made up his mind. But it would be nice to know that he mattered at least. Then he’s angry all over again. At them and at himself. His voice is hard, lined with fury, drenched in hate when he answers.

“FUCK PACK. Fuck yours and fuck Scott's. _I'm done_.”  
  
The amazing thing is that no one says anything. No one moves. No one goes after him. He turns his back on them and they just let him go. They all watch Stiles’s retreating form. They watch and try to ignore the rotting stench of guilt rising off one another, stronger than the bitter sting of anger and resentment that poured off the pale teen like rainwater. It's quiet long after Stiles's jeep tears off into the night.

* * *

Stiles wants to keep driving right out of town. He almost does but he drives past the on ramp to the interstate. He drives home and is glad for once that his dad isn’t there. He’s over at the club handling the scene. It’s the safest place for him because it’s the one place where the kanima is definitely not. He slams his jeep’s door so hard the vehicle sways. Stiles lets out a frustrated groan and storms into his house. He tries not to slam the door because it’s old and the glass might shatter.  But that thought quickly falls from his mind as he feels his phone buzz to life in his hoodie pocket. He looks down to see the texts and the phone calls. Most are from Scott. Some are from Allison. Three are from unknown numbers. He has one from Danny asking him if he got home safe. He replies that he’s fine, his finger just lifting from the send button when his screen lights up with an incoming call. His fingers grip the phone so tightly he thinks he might snap it in half as he stares at the name.

_Sourwolf_

He ignores the call and turns off his phone while he takes the stairs two at a time. He tosses the now silent phone onto his bed and slides to the floor next to the door. He tucks his knees into his chest and tries to breathe deeply. He tries to calm the racing of his heart and the white hot anger that pumps wildly in his veins. The sting of tears prick at his eyes as he grabs his head in one hand and wishes they would fall. But they don’t. They stay there annoying and bright and stubborn. He feels like he’s falling apart. He feels like he’s having a panic attack. In fact he knows he is. He’s shaking and he can’t catch his breath. He wonders how he even held himself together for so long. They were just picking and picking and picking at the tethers. It was going to happen eventually. He had resigned himself to it a long time ago somewhere around the first time Derek slammed him into a wall and the first time he almost died. He had expected it to happen while Peter forced him to watch while he mauled Lydia. But he didn’t have time for a breakdown then. He had to plan and act and save. He had expected it to happen after watching a man getting crushed to death by his jeep right in front of him. He never expected it to be after he washed his hand of all the shit that turned his life upside down in an abandoned Shoney’s parking lot. He laughs because it’s pretty much the only thing he can do. His laughter breaks off into a choked off sob soon after but the tears still don’t come. He forces himself to breathe long, even breaths until his chest loosens.

He rubs at the back his neck and feels his finger catch and drag on a sticky area of skin on the way down. His body tenses as he remembers why it feels that way and God, he wants to punch something. He drags himself up and tears clean clothes from his dresser and slams the drawer closed so hard the little batman figure standing on top topples over. He storms to the bathroom and turns the faucet as hot as it can go and steps under the downfall. He lets it hit the back of his neck, pounding the flesh, removing the feel of claws and roughened skin. He keeps his head down, letting the water wash away the muscle memory and breathes out, his breath curling up with the steady rise of steam. He reaches to grab his body wash and realizes that there isn’t any left. He curses under his breath and grabs the bottle at the back corner of the shower. He blinks the water out of his eyes. This isn’t his or his dad’s or even Scott’s. This is Derek’s, from the time Stiles was harboring him. Back when Stiles thought everything was going to work out. Back when he thought he could get all of them out alive. Back when he thought he could get his best friend back. Back when he thought he could protect the people he loved.

He punches the tiled wall of the shower and the pain is instant. The hot water burns into the open wound, sears it clean. He curses at his hand, the stupid body wash, the unforgiving tile, motherfucking werewolves. He pours out some of the body wash and ignores the different color and different smell. He tries not to get any into his busted knuckles. The water washes away tinged pink with blood. He’ll need to clean it with antiseptic before he wraps it. But before he can do that he starts to scrub at his neck. He scrubs until his skin is a bright pink, the same pink as the water running off of his right hand. He scrubs until he feels clean. He scrubs until the water chills and he shivers. He towels himself off and pulls on clean clothes. He manages to clean his hand. He’s torn the skin off of his knuckles. He’s sure that it will be bruised in the morning and that it will hurt. But he’s too tired to give a damn. He crawls into bed as exhaustion takes over. It hits him hard and out of nowhere. He shoves his phone to the floor and pulls a pillow under his cheek and lies, stomach down on the bed, face tilted down to look out the window and the clouds dragging lazily across the dark night sky. He lays there, impossibly exhausted but sleep won’t come.

The clock downstairs in his dad’s office tells him it’s two o’clock in the morning when he hears his dad come in and head up the stairs. He hears the tell tale click of the doorknob turning. He pretends he’s asleep because his dad doesn’t need anything else to worry about tonight. When the door shuts again he exhales a shaky sigh. That sigh breaks something in Stiles. Silent tears start to flow into his pillow and he can’t bring himself to care. He just lets them fall and he cries, silent sobs racking his chest until they are gone and all he’s left with is a wet pillow and a burning throat. He closes his eyes and lets the exhaustion pull him under. He thinks for a second he can hear a howl in the night. It’s long, dark, and deep. It’s haunting. It tugs at Stiles but the pull of sleep is too hard to ignore now that he’s completely spent. It’s the first time that his dreams aren’t about Peter Hale, or a bloodied and broken Lydia, or the lifeless eyes of the mechanic pinned under his jeep. He doesn’t dream about anything but a single wolf, howling a song that only the moon can understand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Florence + the Machine's Howl while writing. And because this story is well over 8K it's been split into four chapters.


	3. Now We Both Suffer Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stiles, you can’t just ignore us.”  
> He turns back to his best friend and it hurts him to even say it. But anger is a very strong thing.  
> “Yes, I can. This is me, ignoring you.”

 

He gets maybe three hours of sleep before he blinks awake. He’s still exhausted. He’s still angry. He’s still determined. He leaves for school almost two hours early, leaves his dad a note about going to the library. It’s partly true. He drives into town and orders two venti coffees and 2 dozen donuts. He downs his first cup before he gets to the police station. He drops the donuts at the front desk with Janice, the day shift clerk. The donuts are to thank the deputies that worked overnight to clear his vehicle, clean it, and fix it in the cruiser depo for free so he could have it back for school the next morning after the incident at the auto repair shop. He drives over to the library next and uses the slot outside the building to deposit the lore books he checked out. He tucks a $20 into one of them because they are long overdue. He never got around to renewing anything because he was too busy trying not to die, trying to keep everyone from dying. Between the library and arriving at school 45 minutes early he’s inhaled his second Espresso Macchiato. He hangs out in the chemistry lab, right outside the storage room door. The chemicals will hide his scent from the people he really doesn’t want to talk to. When the bell finally rings he walks to class the long way, takes the shortcut through the guidance department to throw his scent around. He hates that he has to do that. He hates that he knows they can track him. He hates that he has to think 8 steps ahead of everyone else. He gets to his first class without bumping into anyone. He half listens to the lecture and takes a few notes. His second class is the one he dreads because it’s Coach’s class. And Scott sits right next to him. So he hangs back and shows up tardy. Finstock welcomes him in.

“Stilinski! Nice of you to join us! Next time you want to make a grand entrance I suggest you go by yourself a tiara, Princess! Now sit down, get your learn on.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just plunks down into the empty chair on the last row, he doesn’t look at Scott who’s half a class away from him. Lydia is on his left, a row up. He sees her eying him and then looking at Scott before sighing and writing in her binder.  Jackson’s desk is empty and Stiles forcibly pulls his eyes away from the empty seat. It’s not his problem. Scott tries to talk to him but he bolts as soon at the bell rings and hightails it to Harris’s class. He sits next to Greenburg, who doesn’t seem to care because he’s half asleep. Scott slams into the door frame he’s moving so fast. He makes a bee line over to Stiles who is staring hard out the window.

“Stiles, you can’t just ignore us.”

He turns back to his best friend and it hurts him to even say it. But anger is a very strong thing.

“Yes, I can. This is me, ignoring you.”

He turns to the window again and he can see in the reflection Scott’s hand reaching out to touch him but Allison’s grabs his wrist and pulls him back. She nudges him to a table in front of the class. She gives Stiles a sympathetic look and he can’t help but to turn and look at her, his stern frown falling away.

“Stiles, we’re all really worried.”

She shrugs and he watches as her face falls. She walks away after a long look. He’s too tired to decipher that look. So he settles on watching her rest a hand in-between Scott’s tense shoulder blades and Stiles knows he’s fighting with himself to turn back around and look at him. Stiles decides to dig out his books for a distraction. He’s provided a better one when Lydia snaps her finger’s in Greenburg’s face. He sits up straight with a grunt.

“Grungh?”

“ _Move._ ”

He trips over himself to pick up his things and vacate the stool. Lydia slides in next to Stiles and places her books neatly on the lab station. She turns her look to Stiles and frowns.

“You look worse than you usually do.”

On any other day Stiles would have sacrificed his first born for Lydia to even look in his direction let alone talk to him. He would have sold his soul to have her concerned about him for a second. But he is just so tired. Who knew blind rage and avoiding your once friends took so much out of a guy? So he settles on giving her a small smile.

“Not feeling that great.”

She narrows her eyes at her and peers at him from the 6 foot gap between them.

“I wonder if it’s the same bug Jackson picked up at our failed study session the other night?”

Stiles sits up straight at that.

“Jackson’s sick?”

She nods and pulls out her book and opens it to the correct pages as Mr. Harris rolls in looking pissed that he has to share the air he’s breathing with 25 of the world’s most incompetent and inept students, Lydia excluded (his words not Stiles).

“He texted me last night. Said he had a bug and he wasn’t going to be at school for the rest of the week.”

Stiles starts to pull out his phone and he stops himself. He looks over to where Scott and Allison are sitting. The werewolf’s back is ramrod straight and Stiles knows that he heard everything. He hopes he relays the info to Allison because she can make the assumption that someone else could have possibly sent that text from his phone without his knowledge or permission. That someone could easily be the other Kanima. That Jackson’s big ass fancy smart phone has a tracker in it that can be easily turned on and tracked if you have his account password and cellphone number. Stiles bites the inside of his cheek, forces the urge to help and the quick remembrance of anger down again. He isn’t doing this anymore. He can’t do this anymore. Because it’s killing him to lie to everyone and he knows in his bones that it’s going to kill him one day, one day soon. He can’t let his dad go through that. He leans forward on the table and he can feel the sleeve of his jacket riding up and tugging on the white wrap bandage he put on his knuckles the night before. Lydia’s gasp draws his eyes to her in worry. She quickly reaches out to touch his injured hand. He’s too startled and sleep deprived to stop her.

“Stiles!”

“Mr. Stilinski, what have you done this time to outrage Mr. Martin? Did you write her another poem?”

 _God, let it go man_ Stiles thinks. That was once and he was 12 and she smiled at him. It was so worth interrupting Mr. Harris's middle school biology class for that smile. He was proud of that poem. He used the words viridian and evergreen and compared her face to porcelain. It was even in iambic pentameter. He drifted back into the present with a sigh. Stiles was use to the abuse. But Lydia glared at Mr. Harris and the man actually looked a little sheepish and maybe a tad apologetic. If he had the energy Stiles would have swooned over Lydia for that. But he was dead tired and didn’t feel like defending himself again, not after last night. Lydia surprised the hell out of him by taking his right hand gently by the wrist and lifted it so only Mr. Harris could see the bloodied bandages. It really wasn’t that bad. It was three bloodied spots over the worst cuts on his knuckles, barely the size of dimes. They didn’t feel like they were bleeding anymore.

“I fell last night. I’m accident prone. I’m the reason they invented lab fees.”

Harris gives him a dark look. Stiles gives him a grin. He always starts the year of by telling the whole class how they are basically forking over their hard earned/begged/stolen money for lab fees that go directly to replacing all the shit Stiles ends up breaking, dropping, blowing up, cracking, or dissolving all in the name of science. Lydia gives him her patented you’re an idiot but you’re funny smiles. It makes him feel better for a second. Mr. Harris looks over the wound and makes a shooing motion at Stiles.

“Go get that cleaned up.”

Stiles stares at Mr. Harris for a second and wonders if maybe he’s a shifter too. Or he’s been like replaced by a shape shifter because he would never let Stiles out of class. _Ever_. Then Harris is glaring at him and pointing to the door.

“GO.”

Stiles shoves his books back into his bag and darts out of the room ignoring the whispers and eyes on him. Isaac and Erica ignore him completely. It’s like he never even existed. As he slips out of the class he thinks that should make him feel better. It somehow doesn’t.

* * *

He hides out in the library at lunch after tracking his scent all over the freshman wing before ducking outside to get back to the library side of the school. He actually tries to do his trigonometry homework but he can’t remember the right formula. A voice over his shoulder pulls him out of his head.

“You need to use arctangent for that problem, not cosine.”

He stares at the problem for a heartbeat before writing in the formula. It fits and it takes half a second to come up with the right answer.

“Thanks Danny.”

He shrugs his shoulders and slips his book bag off and slides it onto the table as he takes the chair to Stiles’s left. The library is quiet during lunch and Stiles always avoided it because Ms. Grant loathes him and his big mouth. Nobody would think to bother him here and he left a trail that would stump them for a while. He goes onto another problem. He feels Danny watching him and tries to ignore it.

“You okay Stiles?”

He shrugs.

“I’m just tired. Kind of hard to sleep last night you know.”

“Yeah, about last night.”

Stiles tenses and is trying to think of a way around the conversation he promised he’d have.

“Why did you tell me Derek Hale was your cousin Miguel? I mean I would want to keep him under wraps too and not just because he was a wanted criminal. Were you afraid that I’d rat you out or something? He isn’t much older than us and your birthday was right around the corner.”

Stiles feels his mouth hanging open but he can’t do anything to close it or pull his eyebrows down into an expression that didn’t resemble Wile E. Coyote before he got slammed into the ground.

“You could have told me he was your boyfriend. I wouldn’t have outed you… or checked him out with you right next to me. It would have definitely saved me the trouble of trying to figure out if he was dating anyone.”

Stiles sputters because his brain isn’t functioning. He hisses at Danny. It comes out louder than intended and Ms. Grant scowls at him. He does not cower into his math book. He will deny it until his dying day.

“He isn’t my-I’m not-I’m in love with Lydia!”

Derek and boyfriend are two words that should never be used together in any relation to Stiles. And he wasn’t gay, per say. He liked the ladies but he definitely thought guys were attractive. Danny was attractive. He could admit that Jackson was handsome. Even Derek was gorgeous in a very roguish way when he wasn’t throwing Stiles against things and threatening physical harm. He found some of the men in the club attractive too. Except when they got really handsy and then big stupid werewolves got involve. So he’s bi and a little bit curious. He is 17. This is like the time for sexual exploration, whatever. He glares at Danny who just shakes his head as he leans over his notes.

“You’re in love with Lydia, but you don’t love her.”

Stiles can feel his mouth gaping. He quickly snaps it shut and glares.

“Dude, I’ve loved her since the 6th grade.”

Danny actually stops looking at his notes and studies him carefully. Leans backwards in his car and clasps his hands together to rest on his stomach.

“Okay, what did you love about Lydia in the 6th grade?”

Stiles snorts.

“She was funny, and beautiful, and smart, and she handed me my ass during spelling bees.”

Danny nods.

“What do you love about Lydia now?”

“She is funny, and beautiful, and smart, and she handed me my ass at the Science fair last year...”

Danny just gives him a knowing look as Stiles’s brain catches up to his mouth. Stiles glares at him in frustration. He was in love with Lydia-he _loves_ her damn it!

“Why do you think Derek is my boyfriend anyway?”

He really regrets letting his anger get the best of his mouth. Because the look Danny is giving him makes Stiles fidget in his seat. The look screams _Are you kidding me? Seriously? I have eyes._

“He was seconds away from beating Isaac’s ass last night.”

Stiles nods his head because Derek, was really pissed of last night. And while Stiles was kind of glad to have Isaac and his insane creeper deterrent ways away from him, violating a person’s body with a tongue doesn’t really call for a ripped out throat. A punch to the face, most definitely, but not the loss of a vital part of anatomy.

“Isaac was just trying to get that creep away from me.”

Danny rolled his eyes.

“Okay, A. licking someone like that in a gay club? Not the best way to signal you’re not interested. B. You were clearly uncomfortable with it. I saw you and I read your body language. You were broadcasting NO loud and clear. You were freaking out about it.”

Stiles really has nothing to say to that. He was freaking out. Panicking might have been a better word. He wasn’t expecting it and he felt violated. He still felt violated. He rubbed at his neck where he nearly scrubbed raw last night.

“Yeah well, I never said he was doing a good job keeping that creep away from me.”

Danny looks like he wants to roll his eyes but he sighs and leans forward.

“Look, I was watching Derek. He wasn’t too happy about that guy grabbing you or Isaac getting all cuddly. But the second Isaac licked you, I swear he saw red, literally. I thought his eyes were bright red for a second. It was probably just the lighting.”

He shakes his head trying to dislodge the image before continuing.

“And his body language? Was reading pissed the fuck off.”

There really isn’t anything Stiles can say to that. He knew Derek was angry. He was going all Alpha on Isaac’s ass and he was holding him like he was a pup in need of correction. But he thought that was because Isaac made shit worse with Gropey Creeperpants and Stiles blindly went along with it. He never thought it was because Derek was worried about him too.

“There’s more to just him being protective isn’t there? Why Erica and Isaac are completely different people than they were a week ago? Why Jackson is such great friends with you and Scott all of a sudden?”

Stiles swallows and nods. He doesn’t want to involve Danny in this. He doesn’t want to heap this on him and just walk away. He doesn’t want him to get sucked into this mess too. But he can’t just let him figure things out on his own. That can be just as deadly. He deserves to know. He deserves to choose. Just like Stiles chose. He chose to opt out. Danny nods back once, sharp and fast, and lays a finger against his notes.

“You call tell me, everything, after I pass my biology midterm on Friday.”

Stiles just nods blankly as Danny goes back to studying. Stiles interrupts him.

"Hey man, are you okay? I mean I saw you with that guy at the club and you looked liked you didn't want to be there."

Danny shakes his head.

"I didn't. That was my boyfriend, my ex actually. I was breaking up with him. I caught him cheating. He tried to hurt me by saying no one would ever want me after him."

Stiles grimaces.

"I'm sorry Danny."

The goalie gives him a shrug and a wry grin.

"I'm not. I deserve someone that cares about me, someone that fights for me to stay and doesn’t give me a reason to leave in the first place."

Stiles grins at Danny.

"He seriously doesn’t know what he's missing. Everyone wants a piece of you."

Ms. Grant doesn't glare at Danny and his sudden outburst of laughter. She just smiles at him.

"Even Ms. Grants wants a piece of Heavenly Moonlight."

Danny laughs even harder. They fall into silence and their own homework after the giggles subside. 

Stiles ignores that nagging part of his brain that wants to dissect their whole conversation until it’s in little manageable bits that he can understand and he focuses on his math homework. He’s so focused he misses the sound of the bell signaling their final period of the day. Danny starts to pull his books together. He pauses and looks at Stiles.

“You going to class?”

Stiles pulls himself from his thoughts and gives him a smile.

“Yeah, in a minute.”

Danny stares at him again and he looks like he wants to say something. He even opens his mouth. Only a sigh comes out and he nods before walking away. Stiles skips his last class and focuses on the massive backlog of homework. He doesn’t think about territorial werewolves and bad club lighting and other characters traits that a certain strawberry blonde _, that he loves,_ possess. Nope, not at all. He doesn’t realize he’s in the field house until Scott calls his name next to their lockers. He ignores him.

“Hey coach, I’m skipping practice today.”

Coach Finstock gives him a shit eating grin as he turns toward him.

“Oh, and I’m President of Uzbekistan.”

He leers at Stiles as he pats his body all over and taps his head for what Stiles assumes is a missing crown. His brain idly throws out the fact that Finstock seems to be really obsessed with tiaras and fashion accessories of royalty lately. He pulls his hands away from his body and does a really hacked version of jazz hands.

“See Stilinski, phrasing something as a statement doesn’t make it true!”

Stiles pulls a note from his pocket and holds it up between his index and middle finger on his injured hand. His sleeve falls back enough to reveal the lime green compression bandage wrap the nurses patched him up with. She also gave him four suckers because he’s awesome and didn’t cry when she dosed his knuckles with iodine, whimpered yes, tears no.

“Stiles!”

But Danny is grabbing a handful of shoulder pad and pulling Scott back to the bench, leaning close to speak quietly to him. Coach Finstock grabs Stiles by the collar and hauls him into his office. Once he hears that it isn’t anything season ending, that he just needs the rest of the week for it to heal, and he won’t have to find another first-line-replacement replacement he frowns at Stiles.

“There is plenty of other stuff you could do at practice.”

Stiles grimaces as water boy, towel manger, and equipment gopher come to mind. He blurts out the only bribe he can offer to a Coach with a known reputation for traffic violations.

“You’ll never have to worry about a parking or speeding ticket again.”

Coach Finstock actually blinks at him before slamming his hand down on his desk.

“DONE.”

Stiles grins at him.

“Thanks cupcake.”

He’s already jogging out of the field house when Finstock starts yelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Green or Blue “Whiskey and Ashes” - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8htG0K1i6Dw


	4. This Is Nothing New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m awesome. I have an extensive collection of video games and comic books, the epic prowess of my googling skills will be sung and praised in the tales of legend, I have my own car, and I can cook. What’s not like?”

His dad is on night shift tonight and won’t leave until 6, so he goes to grave yard instead of going home after school. Stiles watches his feet as they move through the rows. The path he’d worn out over so many visits was so ingrained into him that he hardly had to look up to know where he is or where he is going. The white marble headstone stands out like a beacon amongst the grey, black, and charcoal soot of the others. He bends to pull out the dried flowers out of the vase and replaces them with the ones wrapped in cellophane. He brings her sunflowers. He always brings her sunflowers. They remind him of her, bright and loud and so unique that they could only be considered beautiful. He rests the dried flowers at the side of the headstone. They are wildflowers. His father probably stopped by the side of the rode to pick them before visiting her. It was how they fell in love. Or that’s what his mom told him when he was little. It was their first date and his dad forgot all about bringing her flowers. So after dinner they stopped and he walked out into a field, facing down a thunderstorm and a barbed wire fence and trudging through mud and muck, and picked her a handful. Now, he still brings her flowers. Sometimes they are store bought, sometimes they are handpicked from their neighbor’s freesia bush (with her heartfelt permission), and sometimes, most times, they are wildflowers. She has fresh flowers every week, always on a Tuesday, always on the day she died. Stiles sits down on the grave and tugs at the clips of grass. He starts like he always starts.

“Hey, mom. I miss you.”

Then he tells her everything, like he always does. She knows about Scott, and werewolves, and Derek, and the hunters, and Derek’s new pack, and the kanima, both kanimas, and the pool, and how he’s trying to make his dad eat right, and about first line (even though he’s never played). It usually helps to talk to her, to talk to her headstone. It helps him put everything in order. It helps him work out the thoughts that bother him or that confuse him. It helps him to say the things he’s thinking out loud no matter how stupid or serious or crazy. It helps him to focus his thoughts better than any drug ever has. It helps to just get it out in the open and off of his chest. But today he doesn’t feel better. He still feels raw and hot, cut open like an exposed nerve. The anger he felt last night is still there, not as hardened and not as powerful, but still it’s still there piled under the unraveled conversation today between Danny and him. He hears someone coming a long ways off. He doesn’t lift his head to see who it is until they are hovering just a few feet away. He glances at the unwelcomed visitor and goes back to plucking out blades of grass.

“What are you doing here?”

Isaac sits down on a headstone three feet away. It put him in Stiles’s line of sight. He can see the teen shrug his shoulders.

“Working.”

That makes Stiles pay attention to the werewolf no matter how pissed he still is at him, at them. He swivels his head around, eyes narrowed to spot the rest of the band of furry heathens. Isaac only motions toward a Black Cat back hoe a few yards away. Stiles must look confused because Isaac chuckles. It doesn’t makes Stiles’s skin crawl like it normally does because it’s an actual chuckle. It’s a real half laugh. Like the ones Stiles’s running commentary on the bench pulled out of the boy during games.

“I have bills to take care of.”

He shrugs again and looks away from Stiles. Stiles watches him in their shared silence. He’s playing with his fingers, unsure, shoulders just hunched a little forward. He reminds Stiles of the Isaac before the bite, before Derek, before his supernatural ego boost. He remembers the quiet kid that rarely ever spoke, that kept his head down, that flinched away from Jackson and Greenburg and even Danny during practice scrimmages. Suddenly there’s a new anger Stiles has to fight down. Except it’s not anger. It’s hatred. He hates Isaac’s dad for doing that to him, beating him, locking him up, torturing him. He hates a dead man he never knew for doing all of that to his own flesh and blood and then up and leaving him without anything. Dread settles in with the hatred when he realizes that Isaac is probably working to pay off the funeral and Stiles shuts those thoughts down. He taps into that still raw anger. He doesn’t care about Isaac. He doesn’t have to wonder if his dad had a policy in place, if the graveyard has arrangements for its workers, if Isaac has anywhere to stay, if the state had come and tried to drag him away into the fucked up backwater world that is called Child Welfare Services. He isn’t going to wonder because it’s none of his business and he won’t let it be. Isaac must sense the dramatic change in his mood or scent because he looks at him with apologetic eyes. 

“Look, I know you don’t want anything to do with us.”

Stiles can’t help the harsh edge of his voice.

“Didn’t stop you from coming over here.”

Isaacs drops his hands in his lap and sighs.

“Will you just let me apologize?”

There is a note of frustration in his voice. That’s the only reason Stiles doesn’t just get up and walk away. That and he was here first. (He can be petty if he wants to be. He’s not going to get scared off in one of the only places he has every right to be!)

“What do you have to apologize for? Not your fault some asshole turned you into an asshole, except that it kind of is.”

Isaac groans into his hands and Stiles can see the effort it takes him to reign himself in. His eyes only flash golden for a half a second before he’s back to his normal human self.

“I have to apologize because what I did last night was… unacceptable.”

Stiles stares at him and just blinks. Because all he did last night was save his ass from some Creeper McCreeperson with a bad case of the touches and made sure that Reptar didn’t get personally reacquainted with his anatomy again.

“Did Derek put you up to this? I swear to Batman I will research, make, and launch a wolfsbane grenade at you. And I have excellent aim.”

Isaac smirks at the threat.

“Thought you were “ _done_ ”?”

Stiles sees red at that. He’s on his feet and the movements are oddly smooth, his anger giving him something to focus on other than coordinating his gangly limbs. Isaac is on his feet too. He doesn’t move toward Stiles though, just lifts his hands openly in the air in a calm down motion. His gives him those apologetic eyes with a strong dose of pleading. Stiles sits back down and huffs, purposely looking straight into his goddamn puppy dog eyes. He’s been immune to Scott’s since he was 7.

“I’m here on my own. I just want to apologize. Derek would skin me alive if he knew I was even bothering you.”

The word bothering catches Stiles’s attention. He could have said talking. Derek getting angry at him for talking to Stiles would mean Stiles is no longer an acceptable person to speak to. Bothering means disturbing Stiles. Bothering would be interrupting Stiles wishes to be left alone. Bothering makes Stiles want to grind his teeth together. Isaac either picks up on his anger or just doesn’t care and keeps talking.

“Do you know that he always gives us special orders? Ones that only pertain to you? Don’t touch Stiles. Don’t hurt Stiles. Don’t kill Stiles. Erica hates them. But I’m glad for them. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Stiles tries not to let the shock show. He forces himself to roll his eyes and snort.

“What? Are you trying to tell me that you’ve had some massive crush on me?”

Intense blue eyes bore into Stiles and he stops nervously fidgeting with his zipper.

“Dude, tell me you’re kidding.”

Isaac narrows his eyes and his words come out almost strangled, like he’s holding back a growl. Which Stiles realizes, he is.

“I’m not kidding.”

Flattery isn’t really an emotion Stiles should be feeling. Nope, not at all. Confusion, anger, or outright laughing, yes. But he kind of is flattered.

“You like me?”

Just like that Isaac’s anger is gone. He rolls his eyes and frowns at Stiles gob smacked half grin.

“I _liked_ you. I really don’t even remember why I liked you in the first place to be honest.”

Stiles snorts.

“I’m awesome. I have an extensive collection of video games and comic books, the epic prowess of my googling skills will be sung and praised in the tales of legend, I have my own car, _and_ I can cook. What’s not like?”

Isaac huffs and Stiles remembers that he should be annoyed at him. He frowns.

“So then the thing at the club?”

He lets the sentence trail off. Isaac just shrugs. Stiles glares until he answers.

“You needed help.”

Jesus, it’s like pulling teeth to get answers out of werewolves. Or, pulling fangs might be more appropriate. 

“So you decided to play my significant other? That’s kind of creepy knowing that you like me.”

A growl echoes across the silent graveyard and bounces off of tombstones. Stiles doesn’t back down from the sound or the glowing yellow of Isaac’s eyes.

“It’s hard to like someone when you can smell how much they don’t want you.”

Stiles flinches at that. It’s partly because he knows how that feels. And it’s partly because he feels bad.

“Look, it’s not that you aren’t attractive. You’re a good looking werewolf dude. You just aren’t my type.”

Thankfully Isaac lets the comment roll off and keeps talking.

“You were uncomfortable. He needed to get the hint.”

“So the licking was just for that drunk guy’s benefit?”

The werewolf gives him a knowing look. A look that should mean something for Stiles but he just doesn’t get it.

“It wasn’t for his benefit.”

Isaac wanders off before Stiles can badger him with more questions. Stiles sits at the grave in silence and refuses to think about what the hell Isaac was talking about and who would benefit from freaking Stiles out. But he isn’t going to think about it because he’s washed his hands of all the supernatural bullshit. He isn’t thinking about it because he doesn’t care. He leaves the graveyard well past 6 o’clock.

When he gets home he isn’t expecting Derek to be perched on his windowsill. But he’s used to it and he doesn’t jump. He doesn’t even flinch. He bites back the sudden wash of anger and stares at him. He isn’t going to talk first. He deserves an explanation why Derek is even here after he made himself perfectly clear.

“You smell like death.”

Stiles manages to keep the anger out of his voice from sheer force of will.

“I’m not helping you.”

Derek watches him with unreadable eyes and that permanent frown that never seems to leave his face.

“I don’t want your help.”

Anger curls around Stiles like a warm blanket. The heat of it gives him strength. He stalks over to the window, shoulders past Derek, and violently yanks open the half closed window. He steps aside to make a sweeping gesture through it.

“Glad we established that. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

Derek growls. Stiles expects him to lung and throw him against a wall. Instead he watches as he tugs at his hair. He looks at Stiles and even the teen can read the frustration on his face.

“I don’t want your help Stiles.”

He gives him the same look Isaac did. The one that says he should know, he should understand. Stiles grits his teeth. He is tired of getting the run around from everyone.

“Once again, no help is being sought or given. GET. OUT.”

He’s not met with a growl or a fist to the face or a wall to his back. So he doesn’t really know how to react to Derek looking at him like he’s in pain. Stiles blinks up at him, viciously clamping down on the words are you okay that form in his mouth. He reminds himself that he doesn’t care.

“Would you just let me finish?”

He clenches his jaw and says nothing. Derek sighs and he looks exhausted. He looks deflated and broken. Stiles worries at his lip. Derek’s eyes catch the movement and Stiles stops. He takes a breath before he starts talking, catching Stiles’s gaze and holding it.

“I don’t want your help. But I need it. I need-need you. I don’t want to need you. If I need you then you’ll get dragged down under all of this. You’ll suffocate and I’ll be the reason why. I’ll be the reason you’ll get hurt. You’ve already been hurt because of me. Peter, Peter knew how much I needed you. He saw how much I needed you and he hurt you. _He hurt you_. He hurt you because he knew it would get to me. And you’re going to keep getting hurt because of me. So I made another pack so I wouldn’t need you. I made another pack to protect you from me Stiles. But I do. I do need you, I need you so badly and that scares me. You scare me, Stiles. You _scare_ me.”

He hates the anger he feels, he hates how greedily he holds onto it. But he can’t let it go, not yet. He needs to be angry. It’s the last thing he has left to hold onto. It’s the last thing he has left to keep him safe.

“So you’re trying to say I’m your weakness? I’m the kink in your leather jacketed armor?”

Derek says nothing.

“If this is your idea of trying to explain why you’ve treated me like shit then you can just go fuck yourself. Pushing me away because I’m what some fragile little human? Newsflash dude. I am breakable. Everyone is breakable, even freaking werewolves. The only reason I get hurt is because I do stupid shit, like willingly get involved with werewolves and hunters and the things that go bump in the night. Don’t give me that “you scare me” bullshit either!”

Derek cuts off his rant by placing a warm hand on his arm, holding him steady and still. His thumb brushes gently over the neon bandage covering his busted knuckles. Isaac or Scott must have told him.

“But you do scare me Stiles. You scare me because you confuse me. You scare me because I don’t understand you. I don’t know where to put you. There isn’t a category that you fit neatly into in my world. You aren’t an enemy. But you aren’t my friend. You are pack but you’re not. You’re smart and loyal. But you don’t listen to me, you don’t follow orders. But you, you understand without having to be told. You are human but you aren’t weak. Even when you’re scared shitless you’re still brave. You don’t back down. And you help, you help even thought it might get you killed. I don’t know how to handle that. How to handle the fact that someone wants to help me for the sake of helping me, no ulterior motives, and no hidden agendas. I trust you when every single fiber of my body tells me I shouldn’t. I depend on you even though my brain is screaming that I shouldn’t. I’m drawn to you. I can’t help coming to you, watching you, wanting to protect and trust and depend on you. I can’t stop needing you. My wolf-Stiles, you are something, something important to me. …you are the only thing that I howl for.”

Stiles can feel his heat racing. He knows Derek can hear it. He leans toward Stiles, a hand ghosting across his jaw, voice low between them.

“I could barely make it one day without knowing if you were safe, if you were okay. Just the thought of you getting hurt again makes me, makes me lose control. I almost lost control last night. I wanted to rip Erica apart for trying even trying to scent you. I wanted to hurt Isaac. I smelt your fear and I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to kill him for scaring you. I wanted to kill him for marking you when you didn’t want it. I still want to kill him for that.”

Suddenly his conversations with Isaac and Danny comes rushing back. He wasn’t just worried about Stiles. He was _jealous_. And Isaac! Isaac did what he did because-

“HOLY SHIT! It was for your benefit! Isaac did it for your benefit!”

The growl that rips from Derek at the sound of his beta’s name has Stiles heart racing. The fact that he’s steadily walking toward him has him moving. The edge of his bed hits his knees and he falls into an ungraceful seat. He jabs a finger in Derek's chest and the werewolf stops moving like his finger is a brick wall between them. It might have more to do with not wanting to injure his hand further, but he still stops and Stiles counts that as a victory. He stares up at Derek and grins.

“You were jealous.”

Derek’s nose flares and another growl is starting to build in his chest. Stiles ignores him and stands up, not caring if Derek’s fangs are inches from his face. He jabs his finger into his chest and grins.

“ _You_ wanted to mark me.”

Derek pulls Stiles flush against him.

“ _Yes._ ”

And _holy fucking shit_. Because there’s the knowing look all over again. This time Stiles get’s it. He _gets_ it. Everything clicks into place and he feels like he’s going to pass out his heart is racing so fast. Why Danny thinks Derek is his boyfriend. Why Isaac licked him. Why Erica was so pissed when she smelt Isaac and Derek and fear all over Stiles. Why Derek had been acting all murderous. 

“Stiles?”

He looks up from where he’s staring at Derek’s chest and into the Alpha’s concerned eyes. He waves a distracted hand somewhere near his face.

“Give me a minute.”

Derek just keeps staring. His look getting more and more closed off. Worry reading loud and clear in the tense set of his shoulders. His eyes are darkened in fear. Stiles catches his hand as he slides it away from his arm. Derek freezes and the look in his eyes guts Stiles. Its rejection and fear and Stiles hates that look more than he hates anything in the world. His anger melts away because of that look and he knows that he won’t walk away. He can’t walk away. That isn’t an option anymore. They need him. The packs need him. Scott and Allison and the three little wolves need him. Derek needs him. He’s in, and there is no turning back. So he tugs Derek roughly back in and tilts his head up to catch his lip in a kiss. It’s not exactly perfect. It hits more off center and he feels his teeth graze the bottom of Derek’s lip. But it feels right and his heart is jack hammering in his chest and his whole body is on fire. His skin feels too tight and his fingers are twitching with the effort to keep themselves from burying themselves into that thick head of luscious hair and just going to town. Stiles feels himself flush as all of these repressed feeling and thoughts and _wants_ come rushing to the surface. He curses at himself for ignoring his feelings so well for so long more than at Derek.

“Stupid sourwolf.”

But it seems to be enough confirmation for Derek. His nose twitches and his eyes bleed out to red so fast Stiles almost doesn’t see it before Derek’s there, mouth on his, tongue hot against his own, hand palming the back of his head to tilt it at a better angle. Stiles moans because a kiss shouldn’t feel this good. Derek growls at the sound and it shakes out of his chest, pours into Stiles’s, and he knows he’s screwed because growling apparently does it for him now and that’s going to be some awkward pack meetings. Derek’s mouth is hot on his and he’s kissing him desperately. He tries not to think about the fact that he felt fangs press into his lips for a few seconds and how much that turned him on. God he is so screwed. Stiles moans at the loss of lips when they break apart for air. Derek huffs along his neck. The scrub of his stubble against Stiles oversensitive skin makes him shudder under his hands. He manages to see where he is as he takes in gasps of air. Derek has him sitting in his lap, back supported by the headboard. He is busy burying his nose into Stiles’s skin while Stiles lets his fingers go wild in the thick waves of hair.

"You smell like me."

It comes out in a rumble, half speech, half growl, and Stiles's hands yank at his hair. Derek moans. It zips straight down to his belly and the nosing gets more frantic, teeth introducing themselves in gentle nips. Stiles pants because _fuck_ , that makes him feel good. Derek loves that he smells like him if the obscene way he's licking into his skin means anything. Stiles chances speaking.

“So all the times you threw me against walls?”

Derek pulls back just enough to answer. Stiles’s voice is shaky but Derek’s? It’s wrecked. It’s rough and low. Stiles doesn’t have time to contemplate the way it makes him feel because he’s too busy whimpering from the loss of lips and teeth on his skin for just a few seconds.

“Getting my scent all over you.”

Stiles nods and tightens a fist in Derek’s hair as he moves, laying them out across the bed, covering him with his body, lips working at his collarbone. Stiles makes a strangled noise as he sucks.

“Showing up in my room too?”

Derek grunts against his skin in answer. Stiles arches into the heat of his mouth and that grunt turns into a groan. Stiles is suddenly thinking about some of the lore he found doing research. About scent marking and how it means wolves communicating territory. He remembers how wolves used howls to communicate, to call packs together or signal distress. Stiles’s stomach drops. He grasps Derek’s face between his hands and the werewolf follows, tracing his thumbs against Stiles’s pale wrists. The hungry look in Derek’s eyes almost derails his train of thought, almost.

“That was you howling last night wasn’t it?”

Derek watches him for a long moment before he nods. He pulls his face down until their lips meet. This kiss is long and unhurried. Stiles wants it to mean more. He wants it to be deliberate. He wants to tell Derek everything without words. He isn’t alone now. He won’t ever be alone again. He has his pack and Stiles and Scott and Allison. He isn’t going to be abandoned. Stiles feel like an ass making Derek think he didn’t want him at all. He puts all his apologizes into that kiss and Derek sighs into it. Wraps himself in it and wraps himself tighter around Stiles. Derek eventually pulls away to nose at the mark on his neck. Stiles can’t help but groan at the sweet sharp sting of pain. Derek laves at it furiously and Stiles buries his good hand in Derek’s hair and just hangs on. He babbles as Derek latches on. He is vaguely aware that he’s saying stupid things. Like the pool and knowing that Derek pushing him away meant something, demanding to get a leather jacket too, asking if he can drive the Camaro, which receives a harsh nip to his shoulder. He barely registers himself blustering out his next question. 

“You’re jealous, of me, being attractive to other people?”

Derek growls against his neck, stopping the licking and sucking, and moves so he speaks almost directly against Stiles’s lips.

“ _Shut up_ Stiles.”

He lets the tongue lick it’s way into his mouth as he happily complies… for a moment. He breaks away and Derek sees it as a perfect opportunity to start working a hickey on the other side of his neck.

“Not that this isn’t awesome, it totally is, completely, amazingly, fantastically awesome. But shouldn’t we go find a way to stop Jackson and the other kanima or something?”

Stiles is completely aware that he’s cock blocking himself. But he’s also completely aware that there are bigger fish to fry or lizards for that matter. Like the fact that he has to explain this is Scott. And his dad. And the pack or is it packs? And Derek needs to get his little power trippy beta puppies in control or the whole school will figure out what’s happening. Danny already suspects something is up. They need to talk to him about it soon. And they really need to talk about the age difference between them because people are going to think all kind of horrible things about his virtue and dirty old men. Not unlike Allison’s batshit crazy but super knowledgeable about killing all things wofly and supernatural grandfather. Not to mention the need to worry about the hunters that are tearing at the bits to tear out some werewolf bits.

Derek is digging his teeth into the hickey he’s sucked into life on Stiles neck. It’s a pretty good way to reel his attention back in. But Derek pulls his teeth away to run his nose up the line of flesh and tendons of Stiles’s neck that he had claims with a deft, scorching lick before he brings his face back up to Stile’s. Unlike Isaac’s little foray Stiles really, really, really enjoys it when Derek licks him. He goes absolutely crazy when he licks over the same exact spot Isaac did (so does Derek if the rumble he feels against his chest means anything). And that’s not because of how sensitive his skin is because of the scrubbing or the kissing, or the stubble. The lick isn’t sticky or gross and the fact that Stiles thinks it seriously hot should probably startle him but it doesn’t. What does startle him is the fact that Derek is talking to him about the things he’s accidentally said out loud. He tries to squirm away but Derek holds him in place, a hand curled around his neck and the other wrapped firmly around his middle.

“You are. You’re right. Scott can get over it. You can explain to your dad somewhere that he doesn’t have access to firearms. It is pack. One pack. My pack. My betas are under control… but I’ll talk to them about being more discreet. Danny can wait. You’re legally an adult in California at 17 and this is consensual. I will kill anyone that calls me a dirty old man and your virtue was ruined by internet porn. We’ll handle the hunters, together. I won’t let them take anything else from me.”

The last part in punctuated with a low growl and Derek pulling him in minutely closer. This time the shiver than runs through him is anything but fear and Derek’s eyes are starting to glow red. Stiles manages to tear himself away and off of the bed. One hand shoots up to rub at his head and the other pulls his shirt down from were Derek had forced it up. When did that even happen? Derek slips from the bed and straightens his jacket as he stands in front of Stiles. His hair is twisted in wild directions and Stiles can’t help but grin.

“Okay then, let’s figure out how to kill a Kanima and keep Jackson from ravaging the townsfolk when he’s feeling a little green around the scales.”

To keep from ripping Derek’s clothes off and ravaging him Stiles takes a deep breath and starts to pull on his jacket as he heads to his bedroom door.

"And we’re doing all that without putting Lydia in danger."

He narrows his eyes at the growl that bit of information receives. He walks back toward Derek points at him.

“I care about Lydia okay? I’ve been in love with her since the 6th grade.”

He manages to cut off another growl by kissing Derek quickly, just a press of warm lips.

“But I’ve been making out with you and apparently I don’t love her.”

With that he lets go and walks out of his bedroom. Derek grins, a finger ghosting over his lips, and follows Stiles out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't researched the legal age of consent in California where Beacon Hills is located. So I just stuck it at 17 because I have no idea what Derek's actual age is. I know that most states (and the government) recognize 18 as the age where you're legally considered an adult. So 17 it is! 
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. I was listening to Phillip Phillips's cover of Damien Rice’s “Volcano” while writing this chapter/


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